CHAPTER 27
“I’m not interested in dying,” I said.
“Who is? Unfortunately, it’s not something that’s up for debate. The pathogen’s going to take its pound of flesh. Then the real fun starts. Washington will go all-out to paint this as a terrorist attack. Put a lid on anything, and anyone, connected to Detrick and the lightbulb angle.”
“That’s you and me?”
“When it comes to something like this, people fall into two categories. Either they can be contained, or they’re killed. I don’t have to tell you which category we fall into.”
“So you just sit around and wait for them to show up?”
“A man always has options. Especially in how he dies.”
“You want to kill yourself, go ahead. Why pull me in?”
“I received some information this morning… ”
“From who?”
“Doesn’t matter. The sting I was running had been compromised.”
“You already knew that.”
“Whoever dropped me the information gave me this as well.”
Danielson pushed a folded piece of paper across the desk. “It’s not much. And I doubt it will help.”
“Why don’t you run it down?”
“I told you. I had my chance. Now people are dead. And someone has to answer.”
I looked at the folded-up slip of paper. “But you think I’ll give it a try?”
Danielson twitched pale fingers in the half-light. Silence twisted itself around us like a shroud. He lifted his gun to my head, before settling on my heart.
“Think of it as a last good act.”
The man from Homeland Security tilted forward and wrapped his lips carefully around the black barrel. Then he leaned back in his chair and stared at me without blinking. Right up until the moment he pulled the trigger.
CHAPTER 28
The bullet did its job. Danielson lay dead at my feet.
I rolled the body over and managed to get the keys for the cuffs out of his pocket. I’d just gotten myself free when my cell phone buzzed. It was Ellen Brazile. And she was whispering.
“You need to get out of there.”
“Where?”
“They know you’re in your apartment.”
I crept to the front windows and peeked through a shade. The sedan was still there, but empty. Down the block were two more government-looking cars, also empty.
“How long?”
“They were going to wait for you to come out, but I think they’re going in. Maybe five minutes. Maybe less. It’s pretty crazy here.”
“How did they find me?”
“I don’t know. Danielson’s dirty.”
“Why do you say that?”
“They found money in an offshore account. He’s probably left the country by now.”
I looked down at the pool of blood widening under the agent’s head. “Probably.”
“They found other things, Michael.”
“What other things?”
“I don’t know. Molly and I don’t believe it, but you’ve got to get out of there.”
“Stay on your cell. I’ll call you later.”
I flipped my phone shut and took another look out the window. The cars were still empty. I sneaked around to the kitchen for a peek out back. There were two more cars and three agents in the alley. Ellen was right. Time to move.
I packed up Danielson’s laptop. Then I crept across the hallway and back into my neighbor’s apartment. I was halfway to the kitchen when Mikey Sanders came out of the bathroom in his boxers.
“Motherfucker.” Mikey swung what looked like a nine iron, missing my head by a good bit and crashing to the floor. I wrestled the club away and slipped a hand across his mouth.
“Mikey, it’s me.” I waited for him to settle. Then I took my hand off his mouth.
“Kelly. I was on the can. Heard a noise in the hall.”
“Were you in here earlier?”
“When?”
“Half an hour ago?”
“I was sleeping. How did you get in?”
“Long story. Listen, you know a little bit about what I do?”
“I know you carry a gun and used to be a cop.”
“Right. I got some bad guys downstairs. Gonna be up here in a few minutes.”
Mikey’s eyes flew down the hall to his front door.
“I don’t think they’ll be coming in here,” I said. “Not without a warrant, anyway.”
“Are they cops?”
“More like the feds.” I waited, knew this was the dicey part.
“Fuck ’em,” Mikey said. “What do you need?”
I smiled. “How would you like to get out of town for a few days?”
My neighbor shrugged. “Love to. No ride.”
I held up the keys to my rental. Then I laid out my plan for getting us both out of the building.
CHAPTER 29
It was another half hour before they moved on my place. I watched through my neighbor’s peephole as three agents crouched in the stairwell. They were dressed in blue FBI jackets with vests underneath. One carried a door ram; the other two, shotguns. I’d left my front door ajar, so they put the ram to one side and crept into the apartment. A minute later, four more agents followed up the stairs. I wasn’t entirely sure if they would try to get into Mikey’s place, but I didn’t think so. If I was black and lived on the South Side, maybe a different story. But I wasn’t. My neighbors knew their rights and could cause problems.
I sat tight by the door for another ten minutes. There was more coming and going and a lot of people talking on radios. Then Mikey Sanders kicked in. I’d given him my cell phone, along with the car keys, and watched him walk out the front door of our building. Feds never gave him a second look. I’d told him to drive at least twenty blocks north and park. He was supposed to call in to voicemail at my office, leave the line open, and toss the cell in the trash somewhere. I was hoping the feds might have put a trace on my phone. I wasn’t disappointed.
Four agents came out of my apartment in single file and clattered down the stairs. I crawled over to the front windows. They piled into three cars and peeled off. I checked the back alley. It, too, was suddenly clean. Best I could tell, there were only two agents left inside my apartment. None outside watching the street. I waited another five minutes, then slipped down my neighbor’s back stairs. Cornelia Avenue was still quiet. I walked to Southport and caught a cab headed west. I’d told Mikey to grab his girlfriend after he made the call, and get out of town. Seemed like a nice kid. I hoped he took my advice.
CHAPTER 30
Marcus Robinson studied his leader’s walk. It was a slow, powerful thing. Head up, shoulders rolling.
“He’s coming,” James said.
It was late afternoon on the West Side. Marcus and his brother were sitting in the backseat of a locked SUV. Jace had told them to chill and taken the keys. Now Ray Sampson moved closer and released the locks on the doors. He tapped lightly on the window. Marcus popped the door open.
“Feelin’ special, Little Man?”
Marcus bumped fists with his boss. He’d unloaded the gun he used to kill the Korean the day before and had the piece tucked inside his jacket. The bullets felt like cold lumps in his pocket.
“Take a walk?” Ray Ray said.
James tugged at his brother’s arm, but Marcus shook free. Ray Ray led him across the street and down an alley, past more cars, windows tinted, threads of white smoke leaking from tailpipes. Marcus could feel the eyes on him, hear the doors open and close after he’d gone by. They walked to the shunted-off end of the alley, just short of a scrap of fencing.
“What you doing, Little Man?” Ray Ray tiptoed his fingers along the fence as he spoke.
“Getting ready to roll.”
“You got any idea what for?”
“Jace said you’d tell us.”
Ray Ray nodded and held out his hand. “Let me see the gat.”
Marcus passed over
his gun without a word. Ray Ray stuck it in his jacket pocket. Behind them, the ranks of the Fours pressed close, heads and shoulders blotting out the sky, watching, waiting to see what their boss was gonna do.
“Where you get it, Little Man?”
Marcus told him.
“Tell me again about Cecil.”
Marcus repeated his story. How Cecil had his gun on the white dude in Lee’s store when a second guy came out of the cellar. It was the second guy who shot Cecil, then took a couple more pops at the Robinson brothers. After that, the two white guys ran.
“That it, huh?”
“That’s it.” Marcus knew the story was weak. He also knew Ray Ray didn’t have a body to check. And didn’t really give a damn about Cecil, anyway.
The Fours’ leader pulled his own heavy gun from his belt and held it in both hands. “Now tell me why you shot the Korean.”
Marcus didn’t know how he knew. And didn’t bother to deny it. “He owed me.”
“You doin’ business with the Korean?”
“I helped him with some stuff.”
“You see the dope in his place?”
Marcus shook his head, and left it at that.
“What you take out of there?”
“Nothing.”
“Don’t make no sense, Little Man.” Ray Ray dropped the piece to his side and tapped it against his leg. Marcus felt a twist in his belly, and hated it.
“I was going to take the boxes we saw in the cellar.”
“What was in them?”
“I don’t know. Whatever they were, I figured I’d sell ’em.”
“Rather than let me get my hands on them?”
Marcus nodded. Ray Ray slipped the gun back in his belt. “Go ahead.”
“I did the Korean in the afternoon. Was getting ready to move them boxes with a forklift when the motherfucker jumps in.”
“Who?”
“Tall, white. Wore a long coat.”
“Not the two you saw later?”
“Don’t think so.”
“How come you don’t know?”
“This guy was wearing a mask.”
Ray Ray pulled a black mask from under his coat. “Like this?”
Marcus nodded and didn’t think anything of it. “Took a shot at me in the cellar. I got out through the tunnels.”
“And that’s it?”
“That’s it.”
“So you telling me this other white guy-he took my dope?”
Marcus shrugged.
“You ever gonna come clean on any of this, Little Man?”
“If I thought it helped you find the dope, I would’ve.”
Ray Ray sighed, then leaned down so he was almost eye level with Marcus. “Which hand you shoot with?”
Marcus held up his right. Ray Ray studied it like he’d never seen one quite like it. He straightened and walked along the fence line, kicking at the ground with his boot. He came back carrying a chunk of concrete.
“Over here.”
Ray Ray led Marcus to a pad of cement that was broken up at the edges, but smooth enough. He laid the boy on his belly, left hand flat on the pavement. The crowd of bangers re-formed around them.
“Spread your fingers.”
Marcus did.
“In Ireland they call this breeze blocking.” Ray Ray waited for someone to be impressed. Marcus didn’t have much to say. Ray Ray lifted the piece of concrete in his fist. “You move, I use the gun.”
Marcus turned his head to one side. Ray Ray brought the concrete down in one solid chunk, crushing the ring and pinkie fingers. Marcus screamed but didn’t cry. Ray Ray lifted the rock up, took a look at the damage, and tossed the rock away.
“Go on back now.”
Ray Ray handed him his gun. Marcus took it in his right hand, cradling his left against his stomach. His legs felt wobbly. Someone grabbed his elbow. It was James. They were twenty feet down the alley when Ray Ray called out.
“Little Man?”
Marcus turned.
“You still good for shooting a pump?”
Marcus nodded.
“Jace.”
The shooter stepped out of a doorway. He carried a black pistol in one hand.
“Time comes, make sure Little Man here gets himself a shotgun and a bucket full of shells.”
Ray Ray turned away, and Marcus walked out of the alley alive. A surprise to everyone. No one more so than Marcus himself.
CHAPTER 31
The cabbie dropped me at a Starbucks on Madison, just east of the United Center. It took the better part of an hour to figure out the eavesdropping device on Danielson’s laptop. After that, I sat like a virtual fly on the wall, reading the increasingly frantic message traffic between Chicago and DC. I wasn’t able to get it all, but there was enough to give me an idea of how things might go down over the next twelve hours.
It was almost six before someone in Homeland got smart and shut down Danielson’s link. I snapped his laptop shut and told the kid pouring cappuccinos she might want to close up early. She said her boss would be mad. I told her I was a cop, and she should pay attention to what I was telling her. Then I left.
The smart move would have been to take my own advice. Flag a cab, hook up with Rachel and the pup, lay low, and watch the whole thing unfold from a distance. Instead, I headed west. I’d bought a burner phone after I left my apartment and used it to leave Rachel a message and the number. Then I tried Rita Alvarez, but got no answer. So I shut the phone down and walked.
The news had been getting increasingly grim. At noon, WGN reported a possible Legionnaires’ outbreak on the West Side. Then E. coli. Or bad water. By midafternoon, it was an unfolding health crisis, with at least ten dead, another dozen sick, and Cook County Hospital at the epicenter. Still no mention of a bioweapon, but they were warming to the idea. Wilson had spoken with reporters for the first time about an hour ago outside Cook. I was a half block from the place when I pulled out the card the mayor had given me and dialed up Mark Rissman.
“It’s Kelly. I need to talk to him.”
“He’s busy.”
“Tell him I spoke with Danielson today. He gave me a piece of paper with the mayor’s name on it, and an address.”
I read off the address.
A pause. “Why would the mayor care?”
“Just give him the message. And get back to me.”
Twenty minutes later, my phone chirped. Ten minutes after that, a car picked me up. I slipped into the backseat. Rissman was beside me. Vince Rodriguez was driving.
“Pull up here.”
Rissman pointed to a high-rise of maybe a dozen stories called Colonial Tower. Colonial was one of Wilson’s TIF adventures. A high-end development built ten years back with taxpayer dollars by the mayor’s patronage pals. Now the slush fund was dry, the cronies in jail, and Colonial cast in the role of ghost town. I looked up at the smooth black monolith, its windows reflecting back the night in a kaleidoscope of whites, reds, and greens.
“What’s he doing in there?” I said.
Rissman responded by making a move to get out of the car. When I didn’t try to stop him, he stopped himself. “What are you trying to implicate the mayor in?”
“What makes you think I’m trying to implicate him in anything?”
“What’s at the address you gave me?”
“You know what’s there.”
“It’s a grocery store.”
“Owned by a Korean named Lee. There was also a double homicide there last night.”
Rissman glanced toward the front seat, but Rodriguez didn’t flinch. “And what would any of that have to do with the mayor? Or the situation on the West Side?”
“Actually, I was hoping you could tell me.”
Rissman’s eyes sketched his contempt in sharp, quick strokes. “You’re not smart enough for this, Kelly.”
“Stupidity has always been my strength.”
The mayor’s man reached for the latch again. This time he got out of the
car, shoved his hands in his pockets, and trudged toward the Colonial’s revolving doors. Rodriguez raised his eyes to the rearview mirror.
“Is it enough to ruin my career? Or is your heart set on getting me a cell next to yours?”
“Come on,” I said. “The mayor’s gonna love us.”
CHAPTER 32
Room 1406 was the penthouse in the Colonial Tower complex. Rissman pulled out a key card and slid it through a slot by the door. The first room was a foyer, shut off from the rest of the suite by a thick plastic sheet that ran floor to ceiling with a zippered entrance cut into one side. A machine similar to the one I’d seen in the subway breathed away in one corner, its hoses running like viscera through the plastic wall and deeper into the unit.
“That’s a HEPA filtration device,” I said. “Helps to create a negative pressure environment.” Rodriguez looked like he wanted to open a window and let me take the express, fourteen stories down.
“Wait here.” Rissman slid the zipper open and disappeared inside the bubble. After a minute or so, he returned.
“Kelly alone. And don’t touch anything.”
We walked through a second layer of polyurethane and into a bedroom with a wall full of floor-to-ceiling windows. In one corner of the room were a camera on a tripod and a spray of television lights, set up around a shiny wooden chair and artificial fireplace. In the other corner was the mayor of Chicago, sitting on a sofa, clad from head to toe in a white mask and NBC suit.
“Kelly, sit down.”
Wilson’s face was covered by a shaded visor, which, truth be told, was very much an improvement. He gestured with a gloved hand, and I took a seat.
“Can’t drink a Diet Coke in these things.” Wilson pointed to a can of soda and glass full of ice on the table in front of him. “Who the fuck designs something so you can’t drink a Diet Coke?”
I looked behind me to see if Rissman might have a response. That’s when I realized I was alone.
“He’ll be back in a second,” Wilson said. “Here he is now.”
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